


Jolt

by Nanna_Jemima



Series: Days of Our Lives - Witcher Edition [1]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Brutality, Death, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-12
Updated: 2019-11-12
Packaged: 2021-01-29 11:20:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 396
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21409339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nanna_Jemima/pseuds/Nanna_Jemima
Summary: Just another scoia'tael mission. Just another dead guard. Just another.
Series: Days of Our Lives - Witcher Edition [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1543372
Kudos: 11





	Jolt

They rushed through the gates and Iorveth's long dagger found its mark in the abdomen of one of the guards. An armored gauntlet clawed at his left shoulder, another covering his hand holding the dagger currently lodged deep in the innards of the offending d'hoine.

Only, it wasn't a d'hoine.

As dark hair shifted, Iorveth could clearly see the pointed tips of half-elven ears.

The gauntlet on his left shoulder managed to get a hold of him, holding him steady as the guard, the owner, sank down on the seat he'd been occupying, when the scoia'tael had breached the dungeon.

“What are you doing here?” Iorveth asked in outrage. No non-human should have been in the way. He hadn't meant for his blade to kill non-humans.

“Not.” The guard gasped wetly. “Much of a...” Red, bubbly froth was expelled with a violent shuddering breath. “Choice.”

This was not what he had in mind; not what he'd envisioned. The guard's right hand never let go of his left shoulder. The left gauntlet-clad hand landed solidly on the side of his neck, weakly pulling him closer. Iorveth allowed it. He felt the steel fingers dig into the back of his neck as he let himself be pulled down. Closer.

“Help...” the dark blue eyes of the half-elf implored him with more clarity than the frothy gasps could communicate. “Our people.”

That's what he was doing.

Wasn't it?

The grip on his shoulder and neck lessened. Let go. The eyes – those deep blue eyes – fixed on something far away. Then unfocused.

They freed the prisoners.

On the way out Iorveth stopped briefly by one of the dead guards, kneeling down to close his eyes, hiding forever those now-dead pools of blue and wiping away the ugly red froth around his mouth.

Later; after the once-prisoners had been fed and treated for minor injuries Ciaran found him. The red froth on his leather gauntlets wasn't fresh any longer, but it still felt like sacrilege, and he couldn't stop looking at it as if hypnotized.

“What's next?” The younger elf, his trusted second, was looking for guidance at a moment, when Iorveth needed some himself. He didn't know what other path to choose, he could only see one. He knew only one.

“Further up the Pontar. The wooded areas there should lend us shelter for a while. And then we'll see.”


End file.
